We turn on the TV while we wait for results, but I can’t focus on anything they try to watch. Finally, about fifteen minutes later, Dr. Thorup walks in.
“Your blood work is back, and I’ve reviewed the echo results,” he says without preamble. “You’re severely dehydrated, and your electrolytes are significantly out of range. Your heart function is mildly diminished, and there are some arrhythmias, specifically frequent PVCs.
“My clinical impression is that these are likely secondary to the electrolyte imbalance rather than a primary cardiac issue. Even though you’re having chest pain and irregular rhythms, I don’t believe this is a structural heart problem—as longas we’ve caught it in time to correct the underlying cause.”
I exhale in relief.
“Have you been ill? What’s going on that you are so severely dehydrated and your labs are so off?” He looks up from my chart on the iPad he holds.
“I, uh ... kind of?” I offer weakly.
“She’s going through a very hard time right now and has been dealing with elevated anxiety and panic attacks. Her appetite has suffered for the last few days.” My mom sends me an apologetic look.
“You haven’t been eating—intentionally? When youknowhow critical proper nutrition and hydration are to heart function?” Dr. Thorup’s voice sharpens, his eyes narrowing with concern.
I wince. “I’mtryingto eat and drink what I can. I—I feel like I’m going to throw up whenever I do. And if I can keep anything down, it goes right through me.”
“You mean you have diarrhea as well?”
I nod, miserable.
Dr. Thorup taps on the screen a few times, then shakes his head. “I’m going to admit you. We need to start IV fluids right away and correct your electrolyte imbalance. The arrhythmias I saw on your ECG are likely what’s causing your chest discomfort.”
He swipes to another screen, squinting slightly. “Again, my clinical impression is that this is secondary to dehydration and nutritional deficiency—not a primary cardiac issue—but we’re going to monitor you closely to be sure.”
“We’ll also get you something to help manage the anxiety so you can eat some dinner, and then we’ll repeat a few tests. Hopefully, once you’re rehydrated and have some food in you, your levels will stabilize, and you’ll be able to go home tomorrow. But we’ll take it one step at a time.” He looks at me over the top of his glasses, his expression firm. “And next time it gets this hard to eat or drink, you’ll call me, right?”
I nod again, properly chastised.
Dr. Thorup turns abruptly and strides away.
I sink deeper into the thin pillow on the gurney. “I’m such an idiot.”
“You’re not an idiot,” Talia immediately protests.
“Yeah,” Cameron agrees. “You found out you have your boyfriend’s dead sister’s heart. Anyone would be struggling to keep food down for a day or two.”
“Cameron!” My mom smacks him in the arm.
But for some reason, the completely matter-of-fact way he announced it shocks a laugh out of me—although it verges on hysterical.
He looks alarmed. “I’m sorry, Liv.”
“No, you’re right.” I’m laughing even harder now. “I have my boyfriend’s dead sister’s heart in my chest. How can anyone expect me to eat normally after findingthatout?”
“Liv ...” Talia reaches for my hand.
I laugh so hard it makes me cry. And then I’m just crying. Shoulder-shaking, breath-stealing, gut-wrenching sobs.
“I’m sorry, Liv,” Cameron mumbles.
Dimly, I hear alarms going off on my monitors. I’m sure my heart rate is elevated, and maybe my oxygen has dropped. A nurse is there within moments, and when she sees me crying uncontrollably, her expression softens.
“Dr. Thorup just sent an order for some diazepam. I’m going to go get that for you. Hang on for a minute, okay? You’ll feel better soon.”
I merely continue to cry.
Talia holds my hand, and my mom gently strokes my face, telling me to “breathe, honey, take a breath.” Lou and Cameron huddle in the corner of the trauma bay, both of their expressions twisted with worry.
